Enter Malcolm and Macduff
MALCOLM Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there
Weep our sad bosoms empty.
MACDUFF Let us rather
Hold fast the mortal sword, and like good men
Bestride our downfall birthdom. Each new morn
New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows
Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds
As if it felt with Scotland and yelled out
Like syllable of dolour. (4.3.1-8)
The England scene, as it’s often called—the one scene of the play not set in Scotland. The implication is, perhaps, that Macduff is recently arrived at the English court, where Malcolm has been in exile for some time, since the murder of his father Duncan and Macbeth’s usurpation of the crown. Malcolm knows that things are really bad back home in Scotland; and perhaps Macduff’s already been filling him in a bit on what he thinks is the latest. And so he says that they should find somewhere to be melancholy together, to mourn what’s happened to their country; seek out some desolate shade, and there weep our sad bosoms empty. England isn’t quite Babylon and Scotland isn’t Zion, but there’s that biblical sense of exile here, sitting down to weep (Psalm 137). Malcolm sounds hopeless, depressed, like he’s given up; all that Macduff’s arrival means to him is someone new to be miserable with. Macduff’s more bracing though: no, we’re not just going to lament the sorry state of things. We’re going to take action. We’re going to hold fast the mortal sword, grasp our deadly weapons, and like good men, bestride our downfall birthdom. It’s an image of the battlefield: when your mate is in trouble, brought low, wounded, you stand over him and haul him to his feet again. You don’t turn your back and walk away. That’s what we’re going to do; we’re going to be those good men, and we’re going to rescue our country, redeem it, take it back and heal it.
But there’s no denying, Macduff continues, that things are really bad. Each new morn new widows howl, new orphans cry: families are being destroyed, left husbandless, fatherless. (O horrible irony, almost too much.) New sorrows strike heaven on the face, that it resounds as if it felt with Scotland and yelled out like syllable of dolour. The agonies of our land are so desperate that heaven itself cries out, as if it felt with Scotland, it groans and cries, a like, a similar syllable of dolour, a lament. An o, a cry, a howl.
